


Life is Strange: Another Generation

by SkyPiglet



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: 30 years later, Alternate Ending, Cancer, Extra Gay, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Original Characters - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Prophetic Visions, Racism, Rape, Sexual Violence, Social Anxiety, Sorry Max is dead in this, Time Travel, Trans Woman Chloe, Transmisogyny, Transphobia, Trauma, Weird Weather, White Supremacists, both protagonists have powers, but she does come back as everyone's favorite doe, first person POV, prescott family, queer parents, school shooting, sorry Rachel isn't in this much, toxic masculinity, trans girl protagonist, with lots of cameos and references from LiS and BtS, wlw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-18 14:46:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16996998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyPiglet/pseuds/SkyPiglet
Summary: An alternate ending, and beyond: During the events of LiS, Max Caulfield finds a way to save both Chloe and Arcadia Bay, at great cost to herself. Thirty years later, Max dies to a rare form of brain cancer. Barely a month later, Rachel Price-Caulfield, the daughter of Max and Chloe, begins her year at Blackwell Academy. Things go okay, even with Rachel’s grief, but when a school shooter attempts to massacre her class, Rachel discovers that, just like her mother, she can rewind time.Who was this shooter, and why did he do this? Rachel and her new friend, Kaya, investigate how a quiet, unassuming young boy became a monster-- and in doing so, they uncover a twisted web of secrets with echoes from the past, with ties to the original storm, and the remaining legacy of the Prescott family...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thanks so much for reading this. I haven't written fiction/prose in ages, so I'm both excited and nervous to see where it goes. Please, feel free to leave some feedback! 
> 
> I have some rough outlining for the story done already, but I think this will probably be one of those things where I discover it as I go. I don't think this will have a regular upload schedule, but I know that the story is going to be fairly long. Anyway, thanks again! Hope you like it.

**Prologue**

**August 4th, 2043**

 

“Rachel…”

 

When I think back on that day, all I remember is the light. Lots of bright lights. Hospitals are never dark, even in the darkest moments.

 

“Rachel…”

 

I’m shivering, but not from the cold. I curl my body smaller, deep in the fabric of my favorite  _ Chromatics _ hoodie-- for weeks after, the stink of antiseptic and lemon cleaner clung to it, a kind of sick reminder of what i’d lost.  


Another voice, to my right. “Hey.” It’s Mom, her hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay, Rachel. I’m right here.”

“Mama…” I say, but I’m talking to my other mom-- the mom in the hospital bed in front of me, plastic tubes attached to her arm. 

I have two moms, and one of them is dying.

The tiny, frail woman coughs. “Hi Rachel.” She faintly smiles, and even in her wrecked state, those freckles on her cheeks seem to smile too. “How’s my little girl?”

I choke back a cross between a laugh and a sob. Even at the end, all she can think of is me. “I’m-- I’m going to miss you.”  And then I’m crying.

“I know, Rachel. I know.” And I can see a wet twinkle in her eyes too. “But I’ll always be with you.” 

From the bedside table she picks up an old Polaroid photograph. She studies it for a moment, with a soft, satisfied hum, before handing it to me. “Here,” she says, “take this. It’s very special to your mom and me.”

My shaking hands accept it-- it’s a close-up shot of a blue butterfly. The  _ bokeh _ blur of the focus obscures the bucket it’s perched on, like it’s floating in space, ethereal. Every branching black vein on the wings shines in perfect focus, like a stained glass window-- so real, I can almost see into it. It’s beautiful.

I don’t know what to say. “Mama?”

“This picture brought us together. It’s what started everything. I used to think,” she coughs, “that it was a curse. But I went back to it, over and over again. So many times...and with time, I realized--”

She goes into a huge, hacking fit of coughs. Mom is by Mama’s side, taking her hand in her own.

“Max? Max!” Mom cries out. 

“I love you Rachel. I’m so, so proud of you, and the sweet young woman you’ve become. Don’t you ever forget that.” She coughs again. “And Chloe--” her body tenses in a violent spasm, before releasing her with a pained sigh-- “you’ll always be my partner in time.” 

Mom kisses Mama one last time. And with her voice hitching, breaking in a way that I never, ever want to hear again, Mama replies, 

“I love you Max, my partner in crime. Now go give ‘em hell.”

“I will, Chloe. I’ll be waiting for you.” 

And the blue fades from her eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

**Chapter 1**

**September 3rd, 2043**

 

I didn’t think I’d be spending my first day at the prestigious Blackwell Academy crying in the girls’ bathroom, but here I am. 

On my way to my first class, this weird old janitor had stopped me in the hall. 

“Max?” He said, his eyes wide like a choked deer’s. “Max Caulfield, is that you?”

I look away, my entire body tensing up at Mama’s name. “No,” I mumble, “that’s my mom.”

A flash of understanding sweeps across his face as he figures it all out. “Oh. Oh my...I’m so sorry, young lady. I knew your mother when she was here-- such a brilliant girl. I always knew she’d go places. My apologies, I should introduce myself. I’m Sa--”

Before he can say another word, I bolt down the hall and towards the bathroom. Rushing past the door, I pick the nearest stall, fling my messenger bag off my shoulder, and hunch over, emptying my breakfast into the toilet.  _ Fuck…not today. God, please not today _ . 

It’s been almost a month since Mama died, but it still hurts so much. They gave me the option to defer my year for “bereavement”, but all I could see was how her face lit up when I told her I got in. 

_ “I’m a big girl,”  _ I told Mom.  _ “I want to do this. I can do it. I’ll be okay.” _

Yeah, definitely not okay.

Like I always do in these moments, I reach into my bag and pull out the photograph. The blue butterfly. A month later, I still don’t get it. What’s so important about this thing? Is it because Mom always dyes her hair blue? The color of the sky, or the deepest ocean? Blood deprived of oxygen? 

Still, I keep it with me, because it makes me feel closer to Mama. 

“Well,” I say to no one, “I’m here now, Mama. Are you proud of me yet?” And I can’t help but notice the tinge of bitterness in my voice as I laugh to myself. “First class of the day: Introduction to Freak Outs.”

“Hey, are you okay in there?” 

_ Shit. _ Of course there’s someone in here. “Sorry to be nosy, I just heard some...stuff, and I wanted to make sure you’re alive.”

“Yeah,” I reply, trying to mask my sniffles, “I’m fine. First day jitters.” 

A soft, high-pitched giggle floats through from the other side. “Wow…’jitters’? I didn’t know real people even use that word.” 

“Well, I am a writing major,” I laugh back.

“Oh gosh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. I promise I wasn’t laughing at you, it’s just a cute word.”

“It’s fine.” I wipe off my mouth with some toilet paper, flush it down, stash the photo back in my bag, and exit the stall to wash my hands. Behind me, I hear another flush in the stall that was next to mine.

“Hey, I get it. It’s a big day, right?” But don’t worry, I’m sure everyone else is just as nervous as you!” I can hear the stranger exit her stall, and she starts washing her hands in the sink next to mine. 

“Yeah,” I reply, splashing water in my face,“you’re probably right.” And then I look over--

Chubby cheeks, and deep brown eyes. Long black hair in a ponytail, a few wisps framing her face, with a baseball cap with a floral design. She’s wearing a forest green, military style jacket a size too large for her, and her nose…a little bump in the middle of the bridge, not too big and not too small. When she smiles, it gives her this little pout, and wow she’s cute.

“....and if you want, I could-- hey, are you okay?” 

“Oh. Um,” I look away, “sorry, I kind of zoned out there. A lot on my mind…” 

She giggles, and my heart is racing again, but this time not from my freakout. “It’s okay!” I was just saying, if you’d like, I could give you my number? I know how hard it is being in a new place by yourself, so feel free to text me if you need anything!”

“I--” 

“Or maybe we could hang out after school! I could use some new friends anyway.”

“Okay…”  Before I can think of how to respond, she’s scribbling her number down on the back of a Two Whales receipt.  She presses it my hand-- so warm-- and smiles again. She heads to the door to leave, but stops and turns around.

“It was nice meeting you! I’m Kaya, by the way. Kaya Lin.” 

“R-rachel. Rachel Price-Caulfield,” I stutter out. She waves.

“See you later!” 

“Bye…”

In the quiet, I try to catch my breath again. I open my bag and take another look at the photograph, smiling, before heading to class.

“Thanks, Mama…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel's first day in her writing class. New friends, a cool teacher, and the rarest of gems...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, I wasn't expecting any comments at all on the prologue and first chapter! Thanks so much-- it's so cool knowing that people are reading and enjoying it so far. This actually wasn't the chapter I had in mind this morning, when I was brainstorming, but it sort of spilled out when I got home from work and banged it all out. I hope you enjoy Rachel (and my) nerding out over writing stuff. I promise, the chapter after this will have a lot more feels, and we'll get to meet adult Chloe, as well as another encounter with Kaya. I have plans. Lots of plans. I want to share them all with you but i don't want to spoil anything.
> 
> Also! I'm working on a playlist that I think fits the mood of this story, and that has helped me get into the head of the characters. Once I'm done with that (it might not be for awhile), I'll drop a link in the description.

**September 3rd, 2043 - Afternoon**

Every first day of school is the same-- awkward introductions, a droning read-aloud of the syllabus like it’s third grade again, and then off you go to the next class. If you’re lucky, you get a cool teacher who lets you out early. I must have walked under a ladder this morning, because every teacher keeps us until the bell rings. Most of it’s a big blur of stuff, but one bright spot shines through at the end of the day: Creative Writing.

Mr. Vallejo is freaking intimidating for such a tiny man. I mean, he stands at least half a foot shorter than me. Skinny, with sharp, weathered hazel eyes, and a permanent tan, he looks like a man who spent forty years of his life working with his hands. And he has. One of the second wave members of the Nuyorican Poets Cafe in the Lower East Side of Manhattan in the '90s, he actually grew up Arcadia Bay before moving east to make it big. He’s probably won enough awards to melt down into a car, and after moving back home, the governor even named him Oregon’s Poet Laureate. I sound like a fangirl, but my room boasts a small shelf dedicated to Tony Vallejo books. 

So yeah. I’m already gushing by the time I walk in, trying to figure out exactly what to say to one of my favorite writers in the world. “Mr. Vallejo, I loved it when you described a Chilean dawn as ‘the dying palms of morning’,” or, “Mr. Vallejo, your poem about nesting cranes in the Hudson made me cry so hard that it hurt every time I laughed for the next week...”  _ Shit, just kill me already before I embarrass myself. _

Instead, I keep my head down as Mr. Vallejo says hello. I hurry to the furthest seat in the back, plop my things down, and hope that no one notices me. 

“H-hi stranger. I’m Drew. Are you new to Blackwell too?” 

_ Ugh _ . Of course some dude hits on me on my first day. Any other day, fine. Sometimes, like once in a decade, I even like guys. But not today. “H-hello?” he pesters.

I look up, and this boy, he looks so sad and lonely, like a little kid who just lost his favorite stuffed dinosaur. And I can’t help but sigh to myself, before I finally reply.

“Hey. Yeah, I just moved here a few months ago from Seattle. I’m Rachel.”

“Rachel. That’s a pretty name,” he says, in this way that seems so genuine, like he’s heard that name for the first time in his life. It’s the exact opposite of flirting-- like something a baby brother would say to his big sis. 

I smile at him. “Thanks! Are you from here?”

“Yeah, I’ve lived here since forever. Well, except for last year.”

“Oh?” 

“Yeah…” he puts a hand to his blonde mop of hair, like he’s too shy to say any more, grimacing a little. 

“Hey it’s cool!” I try to reassure him. “We just met. You don’t have to tell me your entire life story.” The relief passes over his face, and he laughs a bit, grinning back.

“Aww, thanks. Maybe i’ll tell you someday!” But the air feels a bit heavier, somehow. 

From there, we start talking about bands we like (we both love the sad Canadian indiepop band,  _ Stars _ ), video games (“No way,  _ Fallout New Vegas  _ was the best Fallout game!”), favorite writers (“This is embarrassing, but...Robert Frost…”), and before I know it, we’re exchanging numbers and talking about hanging out later in the week. 

_ Shit, did I just make a new friend?  _

 

* * *

The class goes okay. When Mr. Vallejo calls roll, the whole room gawks at me, recognizing my last name-- Mama’s last name. A pulitzer prize-winning photographer’s last name. Me, I’m still trying to get over how this man’s voice sounds like the distilled essence of the river that carved out the Grand Canyon. 

“Um...here, Mr. Poem.”

The class giggles at me, and I sink lower in my seat. Drew shakes his head, patting my shoulder.

* * *

“Now then,” Mr. Vallejo says, “I know the first day of school is always so predictable and dull, so, how about we skip all of that? No forced introductions-- I’m sure we’ll all get to know each other well enough once we start sharing our work-- and no guided reading through the syllabus. Instead, you can pick one up on your way out the door, and I trust that you will read it.”

A bright chatter arises among the class, as everyone starts to leave--

“--but,” he interrupts, “you  _ will  _ have a homework assignment tonight.” Everyone groans. 

He steps behind his desk and crouches under it for a moment, grunting, before coming back up with a massive stack of notebooks taller than his head. 

“Dang,” Drew whispers, “he’s ripped.”

“Oh shush, you,” I whisper back.

The notebooks are of all sorts of different shapes, sizes, and colors. Some of them look weathered, as if rescued from some old, dusty box in a basement after sitting there for years. Others are handmade, with custom stitching and recycled pulpy covers. The pages shine periwinkle and ivory, sandstone and pearl legal. I even spot one of those gel pen notebooks with all black pages.

“Now,” Mr. Vallejo quiets us, “I’m sure I’m not the only writer here with the terrible habit of hoarding every beautiful notebook they see.” I grin to myself, remembering my own box in the attic at home. 

“We’re going to do what the Japanese call ‘Exchange Diaries’. I’ve randomly assigned each of you a partner, whom you’ll correspond with. You’ll write in it for a few days, then hand it to your partner, who will journal for a few days, and then they’ll give it back to you, and so on. We’ll do this all semester.” 

Mr. Vallejo pulls out a small plastic bowl from a drawer in his desk, full of small scraps of paper. He starts walking between our desks, handing them out to every odd person. 

“Here are your partners. Now I won’t ever read your journals, so go wild. Decorate them, add photos or collages, doodle and color in them. Write letters back and forth, or don’t. Share your worst secrets, or a poem about your favorite flower. Write as much as you want, or as little. There are no rules here, except that you must exchange your diaries when I say so, and that can happen any day that we have class, so be prepared! You can put anything you want in there, however-- and this is my one exception-- if you ever feel like your partner is in danger, or they might harm themselves, or others, please, please tell me.” 

The bowl empty, he stands back at the front of the room, smiles, and with a flourish of his arm, he bows to the stage. “And with that, class is dismissed. If you have a scrap of paper, go find your partner. Pick a notebook together, and don’t forget to grab a copy of the syllabus on your way out!” 

Holding my breath, I slowly unfold the paper in my hands. Will I get the cool goth girl with the pink hair in the front row? The bro in the cardigan with the horn-rimmed glasses? The girl in the oversized sweater with a cute deer on the front?

 

_ Andrew Parker _

 

“Hey, that’s me!” Drew exclaims, peeking over my shoulder.

“Oh, awesome! But who should get the notebook first?” 

“I don’t know...how about rock paper scissors? Best two out of three, winner gets it first?”

“Okay, but let’s do the Korean version.”

“The Korean version?”

“Yeah, you see…” I give him a brief rundown of the rules for Korean Rock Paper Scissors, or  _ Kai Bai Bo _ . Every game actually has two rounds: in round one, you pick out two symbols (“Kai, Bai, Bo!”), and then in the second round, you pick one of those two to go forward and fight your opponent (“Hana, Bei, Gi!”). 

“Aha!” Five minutes later, Drew’s bested me. “Dang Rachel, I didn’t know Rock Paper Scissors could be so hardcore. Where’d you learn that?”

“I had a friend back in Seattle who taught me.”

“Oh. Do you miss them?”

“Yeah, but I’ll tell you about her later. We should pick out a notebook.”

“Alright...I hope there’s some good ones left still! Since I won, why don’t you pick one out?”

Mr. Vallejo stands off to the side of his desk, a content smile on his face. He’s probably done this a million times before, but he still loves it. I try to smile back, but I’m still so nervous, I think it comes off as a Cheshire grin. 

“Don’t worry, there’s still lots of them left,” he says.

The stack on the desk is now a toppled pile of shapes and colors, picked over by previous students. But near the bottom, buried under the prettier notebooks, is the one I want: a dark red composition notebook. You can’t go wrong with the classics.

I pick it up, and bend it back and forth in my hands. Sturdy, not like the newer, cheap composition notebooks with the floppy backs. Rounded corners, with that familiar black strip binding it together on the left. I open it up and…

“Holy shit.”

A college-ruled composition notebook. The rarest of the rare-- the holy grail of the most spartan writer, who prefers a practical, reliable notebook over something flashy and cute. Ninety-nine percent of all composition notebooks in the wild are primary school, playground swingset, giant-handwriting-for-babies wide-ruled. But this, and in the increasingly digital world of 2043...

I look up at Mr. Vallejo, who is grinning ear to ear. “Yup,” he says.

“How did-- how did you find this? Where did you find this? And in RED?” Ninety-five percent of composition notebooks are also black and white.

“It’s a secret. I have my ways.”

I run back to Drew. “Drew! Drew! We  _ have _ to use this one. Please.”

“Uh--”

“It’s college-ruled,” I say, my eyes wide, “COLLEGE. RULED. AND RED.”

“Oh. Um, okay...It looks pretty plain, but I trust you, Rachel.”

“Here,” I hand it to him, “treat this with the utmost care and respect. It’s so beautiful…”

I leave school with a smile on my face, dreaming of the day I get to write in that notebook.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey Rachel! An AU where Chloe is Stoop Kid and has a machete. Also, some goofy texting and then more feels...woops. Thank you thank you for all the kind feedback ♥

(trigger warning: transmisogyny, slurs, mention of physical parental abuse)

 

**September 3rd, 2043 - After School**

 

After Creative Writing, I decide to visit Mom. Riding the bus home, I finally get around to texting Kaya.

 

 **Rachel:** Hi, it’s Rachel. Thanks for being so nice to me this morning...sorry for being such a weirdo...things have been tough lately.

 **Kaya:** aw hey it’s okay Rachel! we’ve all been there. Is it okay if I call u Rach? :)  i like having nicknames for all of my friends.

 

 _She’s calling me her friend already?_ I try not to overthink it...

 

 **Rachel: “** Rach” is good! Really though, I mean it. You were super nice to me and I appreciate it so much.

 **Kaya:** awwww :)

 

Remembering the time of day, I open my bag and fish out a small bottle of blue-green pills, jostling one into my palm. I sit it under my tongue, waiting for the faint sweetness to dissolve. I once saw a meme where someone labelled these things “tit tacs”. Stay classy, trans girls.

 

 **Kaya:** hey, do u wanna hang out at the two whales later? wait, are u from arcadia bay? do u know about the two whales?

 **Rachel:** Yeah, I do. I grew up in Seattle but my grandparents live here in the bay so I visited all the time in the summer. My granny used to work at the Two Whales!

 **Kaya:** omg?? no freakin way

 **Rachel:** Yup.

 **Kaya:** i knew that place was old but i didn’t know it was THAT old wow

 **Rachel:** Yeah it’s ancient. I bet if you dug down deep enough you’d find some cool stuff

 **Kaya:** like mummies? do u think mummies used to live in arcadia bay?

 **Rachel:** What? You’re silly

 **Kaya:** only one way to find out... meet me around 6? I’ll bring the shovels

 **Rachel:** Sounds good to me

 **Kaya:** bring on the ancient curses

 **Rachel:** hella yes

 **Kaya:** hella??? omg do people still even use that word

 **Rachel:** First “jitters”, and now “hella”? This is going to be a daily occurrence, isn’t it?

 **Kaya:** maybe :)

 

I smile at the goofy exchange, but a small nervousness lingers in my chest. Back in the bathroom, I was such a mess that Kaya barely got a good look at my face. But head-on, under the bright lights of the Two Whales, would she notice? I’ve been on hormones for three years, and before that, puberty blockers for a year while I figured it all out. But still.

I remember that girl who used to be my friend in Seattle: Dawn. We were so close. God, I even fucking held her in my arms after her dad hit her that one time. We got our ears pierced together at the mall. And a week later, we kissed in the back of the bus-- my first kiss. My first crush after starting my new life as Rachel. But when I told her who I used to be…

_“Eww, that’s fucking gross. Get away from me, you freak.”_

It doesn’t matter anymore though. That’s all in the past. I just made two new friends today, and if they treat me like shit then I guess I’ll find someone cooler? At least, I hope so.

I shake off my gloom, and decide to text Drew.

 

 **Rachel:** Hey Drew, it’s Rachel. It was nice meeting you today!

 **Drew:** hey Rachel!!! you too!!

 **Drew:** Idk what you see in this notebook but i admit it is pretty in a simple way. like an Edward Hopper painting

 

I’m not familiar with the name, so I look it up.

 

 **Rachel:** Just did an image search. I can kind of see that!! “Nighthawks” with the sharp lines and simple colors and a little glow even around everything

 **Drew:** that’s a good one, but everyone knows it!! look up “Automat” instead!!

 

I pull it up. A girl sitting alone at a table in a cafe, an endless expanse of fluorescent lights reflected in the massive glass window behind her. It makes me shiver a little, despite the lingering summer heat.

 

 **Rachel:** Dang that’s so sad and soft and cold.  She looks so lonely.

 **Drew:** yeah, but look at all the potential!!!! Maybe she loves the solitude. Maybe she’s waiting for someone. Maybe she’s in a spaceshuttle and the window behind her is SPACE!!!

 **Rachel:** Dude, Wikipedia says that painting is from 1927. I don’t think they had spaceships yet.

 **Drew:** but SPACE, Rachel. SPACE!!!

 **Rachel:** Okay fine you win

 **Rachel:** Yeesh is talking to writers always like this?

 **Drew:** nah just me!! :DDDD

 **Drew:** anyway i should go, i’ve got ideas for my first entry for THE BOOK!!!

 **Rachel:** Is that what we’re going to call it?

 **Drew:** sry, necronomicon was already taken!!

 **Rachel:** Yeah that’s fair. Good luck with your blood sacrifice

 **Drew:** ty ty see you tomorrow!!

* * *

 

Walking the rest of the way back from the bus stop, I hear shouting as I near home.

“Gross tranny! We don't like you! Get out of here!”

I spot three small boys, no older than twelve, throwing rocks at my front door.

“Yeah,” another boy laughs, “have some stones cuz you cut all yours off, dude!”

“Hey!” I start, “What the hell are you--”

The door slams open with a thundering crack as Mom runs out, brandishing a giant machete the size of her arm.

“Did you say balls? Because I have a massive collection in my basement, and I'd _love_ to add a few more!”

“Holy shit! Run!” The smallest of the three squeaks out. The boys scatter as Mom cackles evilly, swinging the machete from side to side, chasing them away. When she reaches the edge of the lawn, she stops, helicoptering the machete above her head.

“Yeah that's right, get out of here! And you better hope I never see your pathetic faces on my stoop again, you little shits!”

“Mom?”

“Rachel? Rachel!” She drops the blade and rushes over to me. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm okay. I just got here actually. Are _you_ okay?”

“It's cool, Butterfly. Things have been a little dull here without you anyway.” She cheeses. “Come on,” she puts an arm around my shoulder, “I'll get you something to drink and you can tell me all about your day.”

* * *

 Sipping on a glass of Granny's pink lemonade, I'm sitting on the porch swing as Mom applies spackle to the dents in the door.

“Fucking kids,” she mutters. “Back in my day, we were smart and we threw our rocks at things that can actually break, like windows.”

“Has this happened before, Mom?” I ask.

“Nah, this is the first time. Well, I have seen those kids giving me the stinkeye sometimes when I go on my walks, or if I'm working on the truck. But I guess they were feeling a little…” I groan, already knowing what's coming. “...ballsy today.”

“Ugh, seriously Mom?”

“What? Now that Max is gone, I have to get my bad pun quota out somehow.”

My chest stutters a little at the mention of Mama. “ _Mom…_.”

“Oh shit, I'm sorry Rachel. I know that's still a sore spot for you.”

“It's okay. I know you like to laugh things off.”

“Yup, and you always were a brooder.” Her voice softens. “Your mother was like that too. You're just like her, you know. Freckles and all.”

“Yeah…”

“Yeah.” An awkward beat hangs over us for a minute. “But it's okay to brood sometimes! I mean, it's only been a month.”

“I fucking miss her, Mom.”

“I do too. You got guts Rach, going back to school so soon. When my dad died, I didn't leave my room for months. Your grandma had to drag me back to school.”

“Somehow I get the feeling that she had to do that even before your dad died.” I giggle.

“Ouch, shots fired. Well, enough about that. Tell me about your first day! Who's the girl?” She grins.

“How did you--”

“Um, hello?” She points to herself with both hands, “do you see me here? Blue hair, beanie, a full sleeve, and a tank top? I've been gay as fuck for almost half a century. Plus, every mom has superpowers anyway.”

“Oh my godddd Mom, she was so fucking cute. Big brown eyes and this squishy nose. I was in the bathroom before class, having a freakout over Mama--” Mom wraps her arm around my shoulder, “--and she was so nice to me. Asked me if I was okay and then gave me her number and said to text her if I needed anyone.”

“Damn Rach, you really put the moves on her. Or maybe she has a thing for those sad puppy dog types.”

“Oh my god Mom, stopppppp.”

“What? It's true!” She gives me a big hug, surrounding me in her lanky arms.

I look down at my phone, checking the time. “Speaking of, I'm supposed to meet her at the Two Whales soon!”

“Oh shit, you really _did_ put the moves on her.”

“Moooommm. Quit it.” I flail my loose hoodie sleeves at her like one of those plastic inflatable tube guys.

“Nope! Never. Need a ride?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yup, two chapters in one day!! This is actually what I wanted Chapter 3 to be, but the interactions with Chloe felt so natural and good, I just let it happen. Sorry to keep beating you over the head with the whole "Max is dead" thing! It's kind of an excuse to world-build a bit. I promise there's some cute gayness here, and lots of references to the past.

**September 3rd, 2043 - Late Afternoon**

 

“Did you remember to take your meds today, Rach?”

“Yup. Did you, Mom?”

“Oh, you know how I get when I forget my hormones. Those kids wouldn't have stood a chance.”

I giggle. “Thanks for the ride, Mom.”

“Anytime, Butterfly. Have fun! Text or call me if you need a way back after...or if you just wanna share all the juicy deets about your date.”

“Ew, gross! And it's not a date, it's just food and hanging out.”

“Suuure, that's what all the kids call it these days.”

I roll my eyes, smiling. “Bye Mom.”

“Love you!”

“Love you too!” 

* * *

 I take a big breath before walking through the door to the Two Whales diner. The last time I visited, I still had both of my moms. June, just a month after her diagnosis...she looked so thin then, her eyes sunken in and her hands shaky as she picked at her waffles-- she hated that part the most.

 

_“How am I gonna take pictures like this?”_

 

_“Hey, it's cool, Maxomaphone. Your phone is a newer model, right? They all have stabilizing stuff built into the software now.”_

 

_“Ugh, fine. It's not the same though. Everything looks so flat and filtered.”_

 

_“I tell you what-- I'll keep carrying that obnoxiously large bag around for you, and if you ever feel like you can’t get the shot with digital, I'll help you with the analog. Deal?”_

 

_“Deal. Thanks, Chloe. Hey, this isn't some sort of excuse to get all handsy with me, is it?”_

 

_“Maybe.” She did a double take. “Wait a minute...hey!!”_

 

_“Oh my dog, you totally walked into that pun.”_

 

A little warmth fills my chest at the thought of the memory. A bittersweet one, but still.

I scope out the place-- yup, still the same. A few years ago they finally remodeled the roof to fix some leaks, and replaced a few support beams, but the place still sports that same old checkered tile, barstool counter, and booths with forever flat cushions. The familiar, earthy scent of burgers and fries hits my nostrils, while the jukebox belts out some old John Denver song. “ _...where the sky looks like a pearl after rain….”_

Kaya's not around yet, so I make my way toward the back to get away from the dinner rush in the front.

That's when I see it.

Back by the jukebox, in the glass case by the fishing trophies, there's a plaque. And a picture of my Mama.

 

In Loving Memory

 

Maxine “Max” Price-Caulfield

(September 21st, 1995 - August 4th, 2043)

 

Lifetime Patron of Two Whales,

Award-Winning Photojournalist,

& Everyday Hero of Arcadia Bay

 

 _Everyday Hero…?_ I inch a bit closer.

Photos encircle the plaque and the picture of her-- some that she took, and others from different news stories:

 

Her first Pulitzer photo, taken of the Second Cuyahoga River Fire in Cleveland, 2019, after the Trump administration deregulated watershed protections and the river got so polluted, it caught on fire-- for a second time.

A Polaroid selfie of my moms as teenagers, sitting in one of the booths here.

Another of them, twenty five years later, in the same exact booth. _You're just like her_ , I hear Mom saying.

Another picture, this one black and white, of a younger Mama in front of of the Blackwell dorms, her arm around a tiny blonde girl with her hair in a bun, surrounded by a crowd, as they walk towards an ambulance. _What is this…?_ There’s a caption underneath.

 

Maxine Price-Caulfield, after rescuing her close friend and future Vice President, Kate Beverly Marsh. (Oct 2013)

 

_For real? Why didn’t she ever tell me about that?_

 

A candid, obviously taken by someone else, from the top of Taipei 101, flashing a peace sign and a goofy grin. _I remember that trip! Of course we had to go to the first country in Asia to legalize gay marriage. Holy shit the food was good. Fried chicken and beef noodles and mountains of shaved ice with fresh fruit. Enough bubble tea to drown an army. But I was sweating like a pig the whole time, it was so hot._

 

A newspaper clipping. Mama standing in front of a huge pillared building, surrounded by important people in suits. She’s holding a giant pair of scissors while cutting a ribbon. Mom is beside her, her face looking like she just ate a bug. _Was she trying not to cry?_

 

Dedication of the William Price Library, University of California Los Angeles. (May 2025)

 

Another newspaper story, this time with a picture of the president draping a medal over Mama’s shoulders. Mom is throwing a rock n’ roll thrasher symbol into the air. Mama’s trying so hard not to bust out laughing-- you can tell from the creases in the corners of her eyes as she smiles. I hadn’t hit my growth spurt yet, so a tinier version of me stands by her side, clinging on to her shirt. _So many cameras...wow I was nervous._

 

President Victoria Maribeth Chase awarding the Presidential Medal of Freedom, for efforts documenting the Climate Change Crisis in Indonesia, Cambodia, and Laos. (Feb 2041)

 

And a recursive portrait of her from behind, looking up at a massive print of one of her own pictures-- a selfie from behind, looking up to a collection of her photos arranged on a wall.

 

“Everyday Heroes” Photography Contest

Winner, 2013

Zeitgeist Gallery, San Francisco

 

There’s so much. She did so much. _Lived_ so much. I feel my breath hitching, and my shoulders tensing--

“Hey Rachel!”

“Jesus!” I jump, whipping around to see Kaya, her hands up in apology.

“Whoa! Shit, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I guess. Sort of. Not really.” I stare at the floor.

“Oh…” She notices the display in the case, a hand covering her gasp. “Was that your mom?”

“ _Is._ Yeah.”

“Damn, that’s awful, I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.”

Her eyes spot the photos of Mama at the Two Whales. “You used to go here together all the time, didn’t you? Is it tough being in here?”

“Maybe. I thought I was ready, but I wasn’t expecting...this.”

She takes my hand in hers. “Aw it’s cool! I understand. Hey, maybe we could grab food to go instead? I know somewhere really cool I wanna show you.” She’s almost hopping, her excitement’s contagious. And her hand feels so warm...

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here.” 

* * *

 

“Just a little bit further!” She says, tugging me deeper into the woods.

I brush away branches and spiderwebs with my free hand. “We’ve been walking for the last half hour. Are you sure you’re not taking me to your secret murder cabin?”

“Yup!”

“Wait, was that a yes to the murder cabin or ‘yes’ as in, you’re _not_ taking me to one?”

“You’ll just have to wait and--” she stops--  “Oh! Here we are!”

“What--”

The forest opens up into a clearing. Wild grasses and moss coat the ground, with flowers knee-high for a good two hundred feet in every direction. Red and violet columbines, piano white lilies, and caramel orange marigolds. Puffs and tufts and poofs of flowers I don’t even know the names for fill every available spot. Crickets and chirping birds and other rustling critters ring through my ears.

“Whoa.” I close my eyes and inhale, enjoying the fresh air and sweet nectar smell around me.

“Right?? I told you this place was awesome.”

“How did you find all of this?”

She looks at me with a mischievous grin, giggling.“It’s a secret. But wait! There’s more.”  She pulls me deeper, jostling a vole from its hiding spot, and maybe a garden snake, too. “Look!”

In the center sits the remains of a crumbling structure-- a sort of cabin, logs for walls and everything. Two-thirds of the roof and the back walls are crumbled and missing, a deep, ashen black and charcoal grey. Vines twist around every edge, and I see a small tree poking out of the top. Only the front door, a small bedroom, a modest porch. and most of the front and rightmost wall remain.  

“Decades ago,” Kaya explains, “there was a massive forest fire in Arcadia Bay-- the kind you only see once every two hundred years. It wiped out most of this forest, and a lot of people lost their homes.”

I inspect the doorway, touching the wood of the frame. It’s cool and dusty, and leaves my fingers smelling faintly of smoke.

Kaya continues, running through the front foyer and coming to a dramatic stop, turning to face me. “The fire went on for days, burning so fiercely that firefighters couldn’t even get close. And then…” Her voice grows quiet, “...it just stopped. It died. Nothing at all. Not a single sound for a hundred miles.”

She jumps, catching hold of what used to be the stairs to the second floor, and scales the old planks until she stands at the top, like a pirate queen surveying her vast kingdom.“But! Forest fires can be also bring new life.” She sweeps an arm across the expanse. “The ashes of every creature, plant or animal, that used to live here? They end up feeding the seeds of the forest. And with time, it all comes back, better and stronger than before.”

I follow, climbing the same broken steps to stand beside her.

“This is so cool, Kaya. Living and dying, being reborn...I’m going to write so many poems about this place.”

She laughs, patting my arm. “Oh my gosh, you’re such a nerd!”

“What?? It’s kind of my job to be one. My middle school writing teacher said that poets are always writing, even when they’re not. They’re always absorbing the world around them like sponges.”

She just looks at me, smiling. Her eyes shine with so much life, like tadpoles blooming from a creek. There’s a comfortable silence as we stay that way for a moment.

Then her eyes dart to the side. “Oh, I almost forgot! One more thing.” She points. “Do you see that?”

In front of the the house, a little to the left, lies a dead zone of sorts-- an imperfect circle where flowers don’t grow, only tiny white and grey mushrooms around the edges, with a bit of clover in the middle. “Come on!” She jumps down.

It’s only when I’m closer that I realize there are not one, but two circles. One inside the other.

“Fairy rings?” I ask.

“Oh, is that what they’re called?”

“Yeah, I used to be super into spooky things...I might still be. The Irish called them that because they couldn’t explain why the center is so bare. So, blame it on fairies. Turns out, it’s the underground roots of the mushrooms. They suck up all the nutrients, and when the earth is depleted, the mushrooms move outwards in a ring to find more food.”

“Ah that’s so cool! And I love that you know that.” She stretches out her hand, and those eyes are so deep, like coffee on a rainy day. “Come join me.”

The center ring is just wide enough to fit two.

“Are you taking me to Neverland?”

“Nah. But if I’m right--” she checks her phone-- “the sunset should hit right about...now.”

“What?”

“Here, turn around.” I feel her hand on my back, guiding me.

At that moment, the sun passes through the trees at the perfect angle. Behind us lies shadow, but in front, we’re bathed in warm light. The dying rays of the afternoon cast a glowing halo atop every blade of grass, and every lip of every flower, and every butterfly and early-to-rise firefly that passes through the sunbeams.

It’s like we’re standing on another planet. Sundogs on an exoplanet.

Still holding my hand, Kaya shifts to lace our fingers together. She laughs, warm honey in my cheeks.

“Welcome to The Circle.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback explaining what happened at the end of Episode 5 in this universe. This one was tough. Sorry about more Max feels :(

**October 11th, 2013 - The Storm**

Wind screaming through my ears. Rain soaking through my hair and my clothes and my bones. We’re standing by the lighthouse, watching the storm come in-- a massive waterspout over the ocean that will soon obliterate everything I love in an instant.

It’s so cold now. It feels like just yesterday that I was riding in Chloe’s truck, the sun on my arms, as she scolded me for disappearing on her for five years...and then went right back into being my best friend. We danced on her bed, shot bottles at the junkyard, and broke into the Blackwell pool at night, and I kissed her the morning after.

I’m screaming over the wind. “Don’t say that! I won’t trade you!”

That kiss...I remember wine spilled on a carpet, and burying her cat in the backyard. I remember food fights at the Two Whales and her pushing me on the swing so high, I thought I would fly off into outer space. I remember playing pirates and drawing treasure maps and burying the booty. I remember our first snowball fight, and our first scary movie together, and our first sleepover, and our first-- my first-- kiss.

I want more.

“You’re not trading me. Maybe you’ve just been delaying my real destiny...look at how many times I’ve almost died or actually died around you. Look at what’s happened in Arcadia Bay ever since you saved me! I know I’ve been selfish but for once in my life, I think I should accept my fate...our fate.”

“Chloe! Please...”

Five years away from her. Five years alone in Seattle, trying to fit in, trying so hard to belong but also be myself. I made two friends, but neither of them ever measured up to her. Five years ignoring the gnawing, gaping emptiness inside me as I tried to live without her. Five years without hearing her sunny laughter, or feeling her warmth beside me, or looking into those eyes like an ocean in June.

“Max, you came finally back to me this week, and, you did nothing but show me your love and friendship. You made me smile and laugh like I haven’t done in years. Wherever I end up after this...in whatever reality... all those moments between us were real. And they’ll always be ours. No matter what you choose, I know you’ll make the right decision.”

“Chloe, I can’t make this choice!”

“No, Max...you’re the only one who can.”

Twenty-nine times. I’ve already tried going back twenty-nine times, and every time I do, Chloe dies or is disfigured in some awful way, or someone else I love dies, or the Bay is annihilated.

I can’t do this. I can’t. It’s like someone stabbed a giant glass shard into my head and my whole body is so tense, I’m afraid I might break in half at any moment. Lightning strikes somewhere nearby, and the rumble fills my feet and my wheezing lungs. My hand shakes so much that the photo, that fucking photo is a butterfly, trying to escape. _That butterfly…_

I love Chloe, but I love my friends and my family too-- Kate, and Joyce, and David, and Warren, and Victoria, and even Nathan. I love the deer that haunt the woods, and the squirrels that hide their seeds in the Blackwell lawn. I love Principal Wells and Ms. Grant and Frank and Pompidou and fuck, I can’t let them all die.  

Maybe it’s irrational. Maybe my brain just wants to do what the human mind is supposed to when it can’t make sense of the world-- a speeding object versus an immovable wall. But I can feel-- I _know_ there’s more to this.

Chloe sees my face after the last jump. I can feel the blood pouring from my nose, and I know she sees that too. I bite my bottom lip and the copper tang is there.

“Max! Please, please stop doing this to yourself. You’re going to-- you’re going to die if you keep going!”

I want to kiss her, but I think about all of that blood on her face and how gross that would be, and I let out a morbid laugh. She stares at me, eyes wide, like I’ve gone crazy...and maybe I have.

This is such bullshit. Fuck this world. What kind of universe does this? To me? To Chloe, who only ever wanted to feel safe and loved and wanted? No, I can’t accept this. I _won’t_ accept this.

It’s probably the adrenaline, or maybe the shock from so much blood loss, but a kind of peace settles into me. A warmth fills my chest as I take a big breath and let it out slowly.

“Chloe...do you trust me?”

Chloe blinks. “What? Of course I do, Max. I trust you with my life.”

I take her hand in mine, and I kiss her, mess and all. She looks so lost and scared. I never, ever want to see her like that again.

“No one is going to die today, Chloe.”

“But Max, how--”

“Shhh. It’s okay.” she grows silent.

With my free hand, I stash the photo back in my pocket. And then I hold my hand out, and I focus. _Yes._

The world slows to a standstill as my head moves through a mass with the consistency of thick jello. I swim through the warmth as images of the last week fly past me.

 _Blue butterfly_ . It’s been there the whole time-- all of it, everything that has happened, and will ever happen. _Blue butterfly_ . I’m reaching into the universe, far, far beyond my body. _Blue Butterfly._ The junkyard, Arcadia Bay, the lighthouse, the Two Whales, and Blackwell...this place is special.

_Blue butterfly._

I see me and Chloe, years into the future. She’s proposing to me by this same lighthouse and this same bench. Decades later, I’m having...a baby boy? A girl? “Rachel”? She’s all grown up now, attending Blackwell. Has my freckles and Chloe’s sharp face and my hair but longer, and my mom’s soft hands and my awkward walk.

_Holy shit…she’s beautiful._

She’s crying in the girls’ bathroom-- the same one where Chloe was first shot. She has the photo of the butterfly in her hand, and she’s looking up to the sky. “Well,” she says to no one, “I’m here now, Mama. Are you proud of me yet?” I wish I could hold her. I love her so much. I always have.

Kate and Victoria’s wedding. _What! Oh my dog, no fucking way._  They’re both wearing giant white lace dresses, and Victoria is...smiling.

The Cuyahoga River on fire, a flock of cranes scattering in the sky. Paris, and London, and Taipei, and Somalia, and Egypt, and Brazil. Spring break in Santa Monica. Shouting into the Grand Canyon. So many photos.

I see Joyce and David, doting on their thirteen year-old granddaughter at Christmas. She opens up her present to find Emily Dickinson poem ever written, gold leaf and thick pages and an etched floral cover. For months, she carries that giant thing with her wherever she goes.

I see other universes, too. In one of them, I’m dating Rachel Amber instead of Chloe, and Chloe’s the one who disappeared and died. In another, I’m dating….both of them? _Whoa, Chloe’s going to freak when I tell her about this._ We look so cozy in our house by the sea. I blush when I watch other-Rachel Amber kiss other-Max, and then other-Max passes the kiss on to other-Chloe.

These worlds don’t touch, but they all exist side-by-side.

 _Blue butterfly_. I focus. My hand grows uncomfortably hot, but I can’t stop now.

_Blue butterfly, blue butterfly, where are you?_

The flow of events around me stops, leaving me in a long, white corridor. Something tugs in the bottom of my throat, and I let out a shuddering, wheezing gasp as the butterfly climbs out of my mouth. It flutters small, counterclockwise circles in front of me like the glowing, reversing hand of a watch. Looking more closely, I see timelines flowing through the cobalt of its wings. I see mine in there, too.

“Are you...me?” I ask. But butterflies don’t speak. It perches on my nose for a moment, and it tickles, and I can’t help but giggle a little before it flies off into the distance. “Hey, wait! Where are you going?” I chase after it, running down the hall. I turn the corner, and there at the end--

The doe. The one I captured on my camera that first time in the junkyard...but when I looked at the photo later, all I had was a shot of an empty field.

I understand now.

“Rachel Amber?”

The butterfly lands on her nose, and for a moment, they watch each other. _Are they sharing a secret?_

Blood drips from my nose, painting a small trail on the ivory floor.

Then, the butterfly flies back towards me. The doe looks at me one last time before prancing away, fading into nothingness.

“Wait! Ra--” The butterfly flits into my mouth, and back down my chest.

* * *

I wake with a gasp.

“Max, what the fuck!” Chloe is beside me, wiping the blood from my face. “Holy shit Max, what happened?”

“Look,” I reply, pointing to the storm. As the rain slows to a halt, the swirling grey vortex drifts away, and back toward the ocean.

“Max what did you do?”

“I’m not entirely sure, Chloe.” I kiss her. “But I think...we’re going to be okay.”

“Damn Max, I could marry you right now. You’re amazing.”

A warm tingling sits in the back of my head. I know what it is, and what it will someday become, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

I smile at her, laughing. “Oh no, that's not until later.” She wraps me up in her arms, squeezing me tight.

At least I’ll have this time with her. And Rachel...

She’s worth every minute.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel tells her Mom about her "date". She meets Samuel again the next day. Drew's first entry in The Book.

**September 3rd, 2043 - Night**

 

I’m lying in bed in my possum pajamas, exhausted. Did that all really happen? The day started out like shit, but I ended it in a pool of warm molasses. _Those eyes..._

 

**Rachel:** Mom. MOM.

**Mom:** Hey Butterfly, what’s up? How’d your date go?

**Rachel:** It was awesome Mom, She took me to her secret spot in the woods and showed me a fairy ring!

**Mom:** Oh. Oh WOW

**Mom:** You REALLY put the moves on her. 

**Rachel:** Oh my god no, not like that. 

**Mom:** But you saw her…”secret spot”? Her”fairy ring”, hmmmmm?

**Rachel:** Ughhhhhhhhhhhh nooooooooo. Fairy ring, like those weird circles in the woods where nothing will grow except mushrooms. Spooky but so cool.

**Mom:** Sry it’s kind of my job to embarrass you. That does sound pretty rad! So excited for you Rach

**Rachel:** There was an old burned-out cabin there, too. Apparently a huge forest fire destroyed the entire place decades ago.

**Mom:** Oh shit, I remember that 

**Mom:** So did you get up to any shenanigans at all then

**Rachel** : She held my hand.

**Mom:** Lots of straight girls hold hands, dork

**Rachel:** INTERLACED. 

**Rachel:** FINGERS.

**Mom:** OH SNAP 

**Rachel:** :DDDDDDDDD

**Mom:** no emoji young lady

**Rachel:** But moooooooooom

**Mom:** jeez you really are like your mother

**Rachel:** We didn’t do much after that though. She just smiled at me and we walked back in total silence. I was afraid I did something wrong.

**Rachel:** But then she said she couldn’t wait until the next time we hung out??

**Mom:** Slow is good 

**Mom:** Don’t be like me and your mother, falling in love in a week

**Rachel:** That doesn’t count. You knew each other forever before that!

**Mom:** Ok true

**Mom:** if I so much as HEAR a uhaul before you’re twenty though

**Rachel:** :0

**Mom:** NO EMOJI OR YOU’RE GROUNDED

**Rachel:** :DDDDDDDDD xd

**Mom:** Kids these days, I swear

* * *

 

**September 4th, 2043 - After School**

Day two has even more “first day” crap, but at least I have Chemistry with Drew. We spend most of the class doodling in the exchange diary, or writing terrible mash-up poetry between the two of us.

_ How do I compare thee to a summer day  
_ _ I don’t know but you smell weird. _

_ == _

_ Hell is empty,   
_ _ and I’ve got plenty of bubblegum _

_ == _

_ If I were a possum  
_ _ I’d be so cute and awesome.  
_ _ All my babies on my back  
_ __ Always searching for my next snack.

_ == _

_ Woe is me, I tried to pee  
_ _ I stumbled over my cat  
_ _ Trying to get to your flat.  
_ _ I wish you’d give me the time of day  
_ _ When you’re not around i sneeze like i’ve been around...hay  
_ _ Sorry, that line was too long and sour  
_ __ I love you, Rupi Kaur

By the end of class, I’m trying so hard not to laugh, I almost piss myself.

* * *

 

On my way back to my dorm, I pass by that weird janitor again.  _ He might be weird, but I was kind of rude... _

“Hi,” I say, “Sorry about yesterday.”

He looks up from his work painting a bench. “Oh! Hello, young miss. It’s not a problem at all. Samuel...Samuel knows this must be a difficult time in your life.” He has a long face that’s almost a rectangle, like the shape of the head on Frankenstein’s monster. His greying hair, along with the salt-and-pepper mustache and little beard, make him appear almost ancient, like a tree struck by lightning. But behind those nerdy glasses, I see the life in his eyes. 

“Thanks. So your name is Samuel?”

“Y-yes. And You must be...Rachel.”

“Yup, the one and only.” 

He smiles to himself, as if remembering a secret from long ago. “I remember Rachel. Another Rachel. Rachel Amber. Oh, she was so beautiful. She set it all on fire…yes, the biggest of flames. The rarest of birds, like a blue feather.”

“What do you mean, Samuel? ‘Fire’? ‘Blue feathers’?”

A shadow crosses his face, and he looks away. “Oh, it’s nothing...just an old memory. But do-- do be careful now, Butterfly.”

“Wait, how did you know that nickn--”

“Well, I must be getting back to work...” He dips a brush into the can beside him, swirling it clockwise like a tornado.

“Um, okay. It was nice meeting you, Samuel.”

“You too, Rachel.”

As I’m walking away, I hear him one last time. “Oh...and if you see any deer, tell them I said hello.”

* * *

Nothing big happens on the weekend. I try Drew and Kaya, but they’re both busy.

 

**Drew:** Ah crap sorry!!! Big family thing this weekend!! Not fun! See you in CW class on Monday!!

 

**Kaya:** sorry, Rach! got a painting calling me...sometimes you have to capture the moment while you’ve got it. the artist’s struggle, right? 

**Kaya:** next weekend though! promise. xoxo

 

I don’t have any other friends yet, since I only moved here a few months ago-- after Mama died, and the funeral and everything else was over and done with, I spent my days sitting on the porch, thinking and writing. Sometimes crying. She meant a lot to this town, and I didn’t want to go out in public and have to deal people stopping me to say “I’m sorry for your loss”, or stare at me like they just saw a ghost. But for some reason, I’m antsy now. I didn’t know I felt so lonely until I remembered that I don’t have to be.

_ I hope every weekend isn’t like this.  _

* * *

**September 5th, 2043**

Hey Rachel! 

It’s Drew. I guess you already knew that though, since you’re the only other person who should be reading this. If you’re a thief who swiped this notebook...sorry for calling you Rachel. Especially if that’s not your name. 

So, KAREN, it's really cool meeting you! I came here all the way from Phoenix to take classes with Mr. Vallejo, so it's like…”whoa I hope people don't think I'm some snobby city kid!” But you were so nice to me on your first day. I heard about your mom…that sucks so much. 

I know it's not the same thing, but my mom died when I was really young. My dad is awesome though, so that helps. Somehow, he managed to raise me and my older sister by himself. 

This notebook is supposed to be for our creative writing class, but I guess it feels a bit weird to jump right into sharing my work, you know? Words feel so personal for me. It's how I...make sense of things. And a lot of stuff in this world doesn't make sense at all to me. 

I started at age 10, around the time my sister left for college.  Dad worked late, so nights after school, I only had myself and the neighbor across the hall (in an emergency). Technically illegal, but we couldn't afford a babysitter and the few extended family we have live on the east coast. And I was a smart kid. I took care of myself...most of the time. That's when I started writing. Poems about knights and dragons. Stories about alien worlds and desert landscapes and countries far, far across the ocean.  Every writer has travelled a million miles in their head. Sonnets for crushes I didn't have the guts to talk to. 

And now I'm here, and my dad's proud of me, and he sends me care packages and letters all the time. I think he misses me, you know? And I miss him.

So I'm really glad we met, Rachel. When I first saw you, you looked so cool, with your band shirt and ripped black jeans and the patches on your bag and that determined freckles on your face. Reminded me a bit of my sister, with her punk rock phase at sixteen. Sorry, is it weird that I think your freckles look determined? They really do! Little defiant specks of light.

Anyway. Sorry for getting all mopey here, but I get the feeling you won't mind. Thanks for listening to me, Rachel. Creative stuff next time? Let's swap stories and poems.

Drew

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something strange is happening at Blackwell
> 
> I know this chapter's a bit short, but I liked how it stood on its own, and I wanted a good tease for what's to come. I have lots in store for you all...

**September 7th 2043**

 

 _“I do this thing where I think I'm real sick_   
_But I won't go to the doctor to find out about it_   
_'Cause they make you stay real still in a real small space_   
_As they chart up your insides and put them on display_ _  
_They'd see all of it, all of me, all of it...”

_-Rilo Kiley, “The Good That Won't Come Out”_

 

After history class on Monday, and before creative writing, I head back my room to relax for a minute. I lie stomach first across my tiny bed, trying to write, but my brain feels stuck, like a bunch of turtles decided to crawl up into my brain and make a nest in there overnight. In the background, Rilo Kiley plays softly-- some old band that Mama loved.

I doodle a bird in the margin, giving it two heads and sticks for feet, before I manage to eke out a few lines:

 

Raven blossoms  
flow from the peak of your head--  
a question, asked in reverse.  
If my hands could pull  
at those feathers,  
_would I feel the earth move  
_beneath my feet?

 

I shut the ocean-stained blue cover and lay back in my bed, arms sprawled out. I rub at my forehead with my hand. “Fuck,” I mutter to myself, “I have it bad.”

My phone buzzes, lighting up with a notification from Kaya. “Speaking of…”

 

 **Kaya:** hey Rach! sorry for the radio silence

 **Rachel:** It's cool. How'd the art go?

 **Kaya:** almost there. almost

 **Kaya:** can't wait until it's complete. i saw it in a dream

 **Rachel:** You paint your dreams?

 **Kaya:** hell yeah! the reconstituted, recombined, double rager of all ur subconscious thoughts and feelings?? i fuckin love it

 **Rachel:** Are you sure you're not a creative writing major too?

 **Kaya:** haha, very funny

 **Kaya:** do u ever write about ur dreams?

 

 _Yeah…_ I think to myself, blushing.

 

 **Rachel:** To be honest my dreams are kind of boring. I mean, compared to the real world, anyway…

 **Kaya:** oo, I love a woman with some mystery

 

I can't tell if she's flirting with me or just teasing. I fight with myself for a minute, struggling to decide if I should go for it and flirt back, or brush it off as just a joke. But before I can decide, she texts me again.

 

 **Kaya:** speaking of mystery

 **Kaya:** have u seen it yet?

 **Rachel:** No, seen what?

 **Kaya:** check ur email

 

I pull up my Blackwell student email on my phone, and tap on the first message, from a “chosen@blackwell.edu”. Some kind of flyer loads in the window...set against a pitch black background, I see a huge, white tornado, spanning the entire length of the screen. Leaves, sticks, and other debris swirl around the outside, and at the bottom lies the Arcadia Bay lighthouse, the cliff edge crumbling into the abyss. A message stretches across it in huge, block letters.

 

**THE STORM IS COMING**

Soon, Arcadia Bay will burn

in the flames of our sin.

 

**SO SAYETH THE STORMBRINGERS.**

 

 **Rachel:** Wtf is this

 **Kaya:** i know, right???

 **Kaya:** happened this morning. freakin everyone got it

 **Rachel:** This is so weird. But it’s probably just a prank or something.

 

I hear Samuel’s soft voice in my head. _“She set it all on fire…yes, the biggest of flames...”_ I shiver.

 

**Kaya:** Rach, i know you’ve only known me since thursday, but for some reason I trust u

**Rachel:** Aww, that’s sweet of you.

**Kaya:** after school, come to my room

**Kaya:** i have something to show u

**Rachel:** What is it? What’s going on?

**Kaya:** promise me u won’t freak, okay??

**Kaya:** just promise me

**Rachel:** Okay. I promise. I have CW next but i’ll be out after 3. See you then?

**Kaya:** see u then. stay safe.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Weird shit happens on campus, and Kaya shows Rachel something strange. Also, lots of gay symbolism woops :)
> 
> I had the day off, so I spent most of it working on this. This is only the beginning...

**September 7th 2043 - Afternoon**

 

On my way to creative writing, the entire campus feels different, like the sky dumped cold heat on everyone-- somehow, in the single hour I spent in my room, someone plastered those flyers everywhere. They cover doors and bulletin boards and walls and even a few trees...there’s even one slapped atop the campus tobanga. Unless they somehow managed to run as fast as Barry Allen, whoever did this definitely had some help. Small groups of students have gathered around the posters, gossiping about them. 

 

“ _ No way…” _

_ “What is this?” _

_ “Do you think it’s some sort of prank?” _

_ “Nah, it’s probably some viral marketing bullshit.” _

_ “This is so dumb. I’m going to class.” _

_ “Fuck this, man. This gives me the creeps.” _

 

I walk past Samuel, who’s trying to scrape some of the posters off of a lightpost, a severe look on his face. “No,” he mutters to himself, “no…”

At that moment, my phone vibrates, a sharp emergency tone following it. Other students’ phones go off in quick succession, filling the air with squeals. I reach into my pocket.

 

**CAMPUS ALERT PROGRAM:** PLEASE DISREGARD RECENT ACTS OF VANDALISM. THIS PRANK CONTAINS NO CREDIBLE THREAT. PROCEED TO YOUR CLASSES AS NORMAL. 

 

**CAMPUS ALERT PROGRAM:** CURFEW WILL BE AT 7 O’CLOCK TONIGHT INSTEAD OF 10, AS BLACKWELL SECURITY AND LOCAL POLICE INVESTIGATE. ANY STUDENTS CAUGHT OUTSIDE AFTER HOURS WILL FACE DISCIPLINARY ACTION. 

 

I snap a quick picture of the flyers and send it to Mom before heading to class.  _ What the hell is this... _

* * *

“Rachel!” Drew exclaims, “Did you see it?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of hard to miss,“ I say, taking my seat beside him. The halls of Blackwell were covered in those posters, too.

“Are you doing okay?”

“I am. Just kind of spooked, like everyone else.”

He puts a hand on my shoulder. “This is so freakin’ weird. I might have an explanation, though.”

I look into his eyes, which shine bright blue with nervous energy. 

“You do?”

“Well...when I was getting ready to apply to Blackwell, I did a bunch of research on the school and the surrounding area. I figured that if dad couldn’t afford a campus visit for us before I applied, I’d at least get to know Arcadia Bay in other ways. And well. During that time, I found this…”

He hands me his phone, which has a Wikipedia entry pulled up on the screen: 

 

_ “ _ **_The Draconid Meteor Anomaly_ ** _ was an event which occured over several days in the second week of October 2013. A part of the annual  _ [ _ October Draconids _ ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Draconids) _ , the Draconids are the child meteors of Comet  _ [ _ 21P/Giacobini-Zinner _ ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/21P/Giacobini%E2%80%93Zinner) _. However, in October of 2013, the perihelion of the comet crossed paths with Comet  _ [ _ 2P/Encke. _ ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Comet_Encke) _ This combination of the Draconids with  _ [ _ Encke’s Child Taurids _ ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taurids) _ resulted in a series of anomalous happenings in the American Pacific Northwest, most notably centered around the small town of Arcadia Bay, Oregon.  _

 

 _On October 7th, a shower of “snow” debris from the Draconids occurred near sunset, with an unexpected solar eclipse on the 8th (caused by the comets crossing the path of the sun), and a false “double moon” the night of the 10th, the result of the comets reflecting the sun as they exited perihelion. The_[ _El Niño Southern Oscillation_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/El_Ni%C3%B1o_Southern_Oscillation) _(ENSO), which lasted longer than usual in 2013, is said to have contributed to these unusual weather phenomena, as well as the sudden formation of a massive, unprecedented storm with a_[ _Category F6_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Enhanced_Fujita_scale) [_waterspout_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Waterspout) _\-- a tornado 10 km across which would have annihilated Arcadia Bay had it not narrowly avoided landfall, instead returning to the ocean. The events of October 2013, which scientists are still trying to understand to this day, have resulted in major revisions to the fields of astronomy, meteorology, and climatology.“_

 

_ Weird...Mom and Mama were both here when this all happened.  I think Mama was a Blackwell student then. Why did they never mention any of this? _

“I love weird, unexplainable things, so I did some more digging,” Drew continues, “and apparently, the ‘Stormbringers’ cult formed after all of that. I mean, I can’t blame them-- snow in seventy degree weather, and a solar eclipse, and double moons? And then this weird storm? I’d probably think the world was ending, too. ”

“Yeah, I could see that. But why haven’t I heard of them until now?

“They never got much traction...more of an annoyance than a major force in town.  They had a small resurgence in 2025, when they claimed the world would end, but they’ve been totally dormant since.”

“And obviously, the world never ended. We’re still here.”

“Yeah, people are strange. But this year is the 30th anniversary of the Draconid Anomaly. Honestly though, it’s probably just one lonely guy in a basement somewhere.”

“Yeah…” I nod, but something doesn’t sit right with me. How could one person, or even a few people, cover the entire campus in those posters, in less than an hour, without anyone noticing?

“Alright, class!” Mr. Vallejo interrupts my thoughts. “Settle down now…”

 

* * *

Class is pretty okay. We start by arranging our desks in a circle, and then going around with every person sharing something we’ve written. I don’t have much that isn’t like, super intense feelings about Mama, so I go with something more recent and slightly less embarrassing.

 

_ “Beneath the withering sun  
_ _ the creases of your hands  
_ _ are rivers deep as your eyes--  
_ _ flowing into me, and out.  
_ _ When you look at me, I almost forget  
_ _ the cold summer; I’d rather have  
_ _ the crunch of leaves, your dying lilies  
_ __ blooming in my belly.”

 

Mr. Vallejo’s mouth hangs open, his eyes wide in wonder. The room sits silent for a moment, and then--

“HOLY CRAP RACHEL!” Drew yells. The class laughs, but in a good way. Drew bro-punches my arm in appreciation. “That was awesome!” I’m blushing like a fire truck.

From there, we go on to some partner work-- I get this shy looking girl, Maria, from Louisville, KY. We swap turns writing lines for the same poem, but unlike chemistry with Drew, we take it seriously. Mr. Vallejo tells us to keep working on it until we have class again in two days, creating at least two pages’ worth of content. “It doesn’t have to be good, or even consistent-- just get as much as you can down.” The rest of the day is a lecture on the  _ OuLiPo  _ group, an association of French poets and mathematicians who experimented with different forms for poems, criss-crossing lines, writing poems to fit specific shapes, rearranging entire books, and cutting up pages into bizarre patchworks. 

Before I leave, Drew hands me the exchange diary. “Sorry if I sound kind of emo in there. I started writing and it just sort of...happened.”

“Hey, it’s cool Drew!” I smile reassuringly at him. “I’m sure whatever it is, I’ll like it. Can’t wait to dig in tonight.”

“Aww, thanks Rachel.” He grins back.

“Speaking of tonight, do you wanna meet in the dining hall later?” 

He rubs the back of his head, a bit sheepish. “Sorry, already got other plans. But maybe tomorrow? See ya later, Raygun!” He walks backwards away, blasting finger-guns at me. “Pew pew pew!”  I laugh at his antics. _What a dork._

When he’s further down the hall, he finally turns around, and starts talking to a girl…the same one I partnered with earlier. She’s really pretty-- big, green eyes, auburn hair, tan skin, and a jean jacket with a bunch of sweet patches. He makes some goofy gestures with his hands, telling a joke, and she laughs, holding her hand over her mouth.  _ Oooh, I’m gonna have to ask him about that later… _

* * *

On my way back to the dorms, I notice that about half of the posters are gone now, with bits of scrap and glue in their absence. Maintenance staff and even some teachers are trying to get rid of them all, but the posters seem to be made of a material that comes off in pieces, rather than all at once. 

 

My phone chimes.

 

**Mom:** wtf Rachel

**Mom:** where’d you see that shit?

**Rachel:** Everyone got it in an email today. Ton of them showed up on campus too.

**Mom:** wtf

**Mom:** do i need to stab a bitch

**Rachel:** omg no mom! They think it’s just some weird prank.

**Mom:** okay good. cuz i will shank someone if i have to

**Mom:** gotta keep you safe and all

**Rachel:** Awww :)

**Mom:** fsadlfhsjkhflas how many times have i told u

**Rachel:** Do you know anything about the “Stormbringers”? Drew told me about them and the storm. You and Mama were here around that time, right?

 

There’s a long pause before she replies, like she’s typing out a long response, or trying to figure out what to say.

 

**Mom:** yeah we were. there was a storm but it never hit Arcadia Bay

**Mom:** it was fucking massive though

**Mom:** those cult dudes...idk, they were just annoying and then one day they disappeared

**Rachel:** That’s so wild. Does Mama have any pictures from back then? A double moon sounds kind of cool.

**Mom:** yeah maybe. that shit was so fuckin weird 

**Mom:** i can check the attic. come by tonight, i’ll tell you all about it

**Rachel:** Sorry, I already promised Kaya I’d meet her! And curfew is early because of the vandalism

**Mom:** oooooooooooooooooo good luck Butterfly, you got this

**Rachel:** Thanks mom. :) Another time, okay?

**Mom:** okay. stay safe 

**Mom:** let me know if i gotta shank someone

**Mom:** and NO EMOJI

* * *

Kaya’s room is one floor above mine, at the end of the hall. The whiteboard beside her door has a doodle of some lilies poking out from the corner, like they’re growing from a crack in a sidewalk, and she’s signed her name above it-- also off center-- in flowery, swirly script. I knock on the door.

“Just a sec!” Kaya calls from inside. 

I’m in the middle of doodling a little possum by the lilies when the door swings open. “Rach! It’s so good to see you. Come on in.” She tugs at my hand.

My cheeks tingle a little at the thought of this pretty girl inviting me into her room. “What’s going on, Kaya? You said you had something you needed to show me?”

Kaya’s room is messy, but not too messy. There’s stuff scattered across the floor, and her desk drawers seem too full, but it feels like things belong where they’re supposed to, like she has a certain order to the chaos. Various band posters cover the walls--  _ Phoebe Ryan, Bat for Lashes, Metric _ , and  _ Kitty _ \-- and a string of fairy lights follow the top edges of the walls, casting a pink ambiance over us. Since her room is at the end of the hall, she has a massive window twice the size of other rooms, letting in the afternoon light. And in front of the window sits an easel with a canvas, covered in a black cloth, with a chair and various brushes and tubes of paint by it. 

She stops by the easel, and when she turns to face me, I can see her brow furrowed in worry. “Okay. Promise again you won’t freak? I trust you.”

My heart beats a little faster. “Yeah, I promise. I trust you too, Kaya.” 

She’s glowing again in the light. “Okay.” And with a sharp inhale, she pulls the black cloth from the canvas.

Standing a head taller than me, and in much greater detail, looms the same scene from the Stormbringer poster. The tornado is less of a funnel and more like a hurricane, a massive grey and black streaked shadow blocking out the sun. The shattered sign of the Two Whales diner swirls inside it, along with my mom’s rusty old pickup truck, a Polaroid camera, and an assault rifle. Above the nearby woods, a flock of black birds scatters, while a spotted doe stands at the edge of the forest, looking towards the bay. 

And there atop the crumbling cliff face, is that familiar lighthouse, with two figures standing below it. 

I step closer, and I recognize the long dark hair in a ponytail with a baseball cap and military jacket, and the other figure wearing torn black jeans, a purple band shirt, and carrying a messenger bag. It’s me and Kaya, holding hands, as we watch the world end.

I shiver to myself. “Kaya, what is this?”

“I saw this in a dream last week, Rachel.” 

My head hurts. “You saw it--”

“On Wednesday. The night before we met.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little spookiness, but the ship sails. GAY HYPE!!
> 
> P.S.: Carface and Still Corners are excellent. I had the pleasure of seeing Still Corners a few weeks ago, and it was one of the best nights of my life. So magical and good.

“It’s been like this since I was a kid,” She says. She looks down, fidgeting with her hands.

“You dream things, and they come true,” I state plainly, not quite believing it.

“Yes. I mean, not all of my dreams. Only the ones that I feel a sort of... _calling_ to paint or draw.” She says the word like it’s sacred, almost forbidden from leaving her lips. And even though my breath shakes, and my head burns as it attempts to collapse the atoms of her words into some sort of quantum sense, I can’t help but stare at those lips, lost in every pink wrinkle and pursed river. Even when I’m terrified, she’s so, so beautiful, lit with the sun behind her like an alien reaching their hand out to abduct me. Every imperfect little curl of her black hair surrounds her like a halo...or a burning bush.

“Every-- every single dream?”

“Yes. Usually it's only small things-- drinking a cup of coffee at a specific time of day, or watching a minivan run a red light. The day I broke my pinky toe when I was fifteen. But every once in awhile, it's something big like this.”

“How do I know you didn’t just make this painting today, after the email and those posters appeared all over campus?” In my mind, I know I’m being unreasonable-- that the level of detail in that painting, with the watercolor petals comprising the grey and black storm, and the tiny, minute specks of dust and debris in the tornado would take hours, if not days, to put together.

She crouches by her bed, digging underneath, until she pulls out a plain, black sketchbook. Flipping it open, she hands it to me. There, on the page, is a sketch of this very scene-- me, standing in her room. Her, watching me as I look down at the notebook. The detail that catches my eye, however, is my shirt-- the cover of _Carface_ ’s first album, _Plastic God_ , from 2017. It’s a heart, formed from wires and computer chips, the main muscle a sharp cube, and the major arteries splayed above, formed from multi-wire hard drive plugs. This band has less than 20,000 likes on Facebook, and they’ve been dormant for a decade. And I only got this shirt in the mail last week...there’s no way she could have known about it.

She points at something else on the page, and I follow her finger. I look down at my feet to confirm, and there, plastered under my left shoe, is a red maple leaf in the same exact shape.

God help me, I believe her.

“So what can we do about this, then?”

“I don’t know, Rach,” she responds in a hushed whisper. “You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”

I take her hand. “No. But I’m scared.”

She looks up at me, and in the shadow of the sun, her eyes are neutron stars. “Me too.”

Before I can say anything more, Kaya quietly takes off her clothes, leaving only a modest set of black underwear and a bra on.  She takes off her baseball cap and undoes the ponytail, letting it cascade across her shoulders in silence. There is nothing sensual about all of this, but rather, she radiates a kind of soft desperation-- as if the barriers surrounding her body need to be shed so she feels less trapped, and closer to the world. Closer to me.

My face burns a deep scarlet as she climbs into her bed, laying down. “Will you hold me?”

I hesitate, knowing that if I remove my clothes, she’ll find out who I really am-- that I’m trans, and I don't have the same body parts as other girls. “I, um…”

She seems to catch on to my nervousness, mistaking it for the act of removing clothes, and not something else. “It’s okay.” She moves the blanket, patting a spot on the bed beside her. “Please, just hold me.”

I can’t leave her alone, not like this. So I follow, climbing in as well. She turns away, taking her place as little spoon, and I wrap my arms around her, noticing her shiver. Like we did at The Circle, she intertwines her hands with mine. She’s so soft, and something about her peppermint shampoo feels like home-- like I’ve been here before, long ago, in a past life.

“Have your... _visions_ ever been wrong?” I ask.

“No,” she whispers, still shivering, “but I hope I am this time.”

We stay like that for a long while.

* * *

I wake hours later in near-darkness, lit only by the reddish glow of the fairy lights. I check my phone with my one free hand.

“Shit,” I mutter to myself.

“Nn…” Kaya stirs, “what is it?”

“It’s nine. I missed curfew.”

“Thats okay...just stay here with me…”

I’m hit with the realization of where I am, and who lies barely a milimeter away from me. My face flushes again. _Is it hot in here, or is it just me?_

“...okay.”

“Thanks, Rach.” She turns to face me, snuggling into my chest. “Mm...you're cozy.”

“Th-thanks…”

There's a brief silence before she speaks again. “Hey Rach?”

“Yeah?

“I really like you,” she says, her voice hushed with nervous affection.

For a second, I forget how to breathe. “I...I really like you too.”

She cuddles even closer. “Sorry for being so weird earlier.”

“Hey, it's okay,” I reply. “This whole situation is weird...” She tenses a little. “...but everyone reacts to stuff in different ways. I'm not judging you.” I feel her relax, letting out a small, satisfied hum.

“I feel like I've been kind of selfish, Rach.”

“What makes you say that?”

She sits up, looking away. “I mean...I came into your life a few days ago, and ever since, it's been all about me. Places I want to go. Things I want to show you. My spooky shit, and my problems. The one time it was your stuff-- at the Two Whales-- I was like, 'let’s get the hell out of here’.”

I sit up, too. “Kaya…”

She turns back, clinging on to me even harder. She cries into my shirt, trembling, as her voice hitches louder.  “I didn't ask you where you wanted to go, I just decided for you. And today, I didn't ask you if you'd be okay with learning my fucked up bullshit. I, I _covered_ it in this veil of mystery like, 'oooo look at me, I'm so interesting, come find out my secret’!”

She sniffles, her voice now a whisper. “But really, I'm fucking terrified. I’m a scared little girl who clung on to you because you’re cute, and you let me. I _used_ you, and I’m so, so sorry, Rach.”

In that moment I realize that she’s just like me-- that she overthinks and worries about everything and everyone, and she lets it sit inside until it kills her, just like I do. She might express it in different ways, but really, we’re not that different.

“Hey,” I say, “hey…” I hold her face in my hands, making eye contact. Instead of swimming tadpoles in her pupils, I see mud-covered ravens, with little rivers flowing out. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. You didn’t ‘use’ me. You _did_ ask me if I wanted to leave the Two Whales, remember? You saw how fucked up I was, looking at that memorial wall, and you thought it would be a good idea to leave. Okay, so you didn’t ask me where I wanted to go after that. But I followed you, because I like being with you.”

She sniffles. “You...you do?”

“Hella yes!” She giggles at the word. “And today, with the painting stuff-- yeah, it’s kind of scary, but I’m glad you shared it with me. You shouldn’t have to be all alone in this. And I meant it when I said I trust y--”

Suddenly her lips smash into mine, and I kiss her back, and I taste the cinnamon of her horchata lipgloss, and she kisses harder, and her hands are tangled in my hair, and I wrap an arm around her waist, and I forget how to breathe, and then she pushes me back, pinning my wrists to the bed. Her wet eyes are wide, staring down at me.

“I’ve been…” she pants, “...wanting to do that since the moment we met.”

“Holy sh--” She kisses me again, this time gentler. “...wow.”

She releases her grip and rolls over beside me, holding my hand. “I really, really like you. You’re so sweet, Rachel.” My heart is pounding.

“I really like you too. You’re so...alive, and fearless, even when you’re afraid. And I feel safe with you.”

“I feel safe with you too.”

 

We lay there together for a moment, silent. She traces her thumb along the inside of my palm, drawing stars. “Hey Rach. Will you put on some music? I want to learn more about you.”

I queue up some music on my phone, and the soft strum of guitars fills the room. She squeezes my hand, listening, a content smile on her face.

 

 _“In the middle of the night..._  
_said she wanted to go..._  
_in search of a sound  
she still wanted to know._

 _She could hear the drums..._  
_she could hear the day..._  
_in the middle of the night,  
it was all so clear…”_

-Still Corners, “In the Middle of the Night”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel replies to Drew in their shared notebook. She also writes a super gay poem. A little morning glow, and an explanation for why she loves possums so much.
> 
> Sorry for the delay between updates! The holidays are a bit tough for me, and I also wanted to work on my notes/outline for the story before going any further. Writing poetry also takes a lot out of me, despite the shorter length...it's more emotionally intense for me, I guess? 
> 
> More coming soon!

Hey Drew,

 

Thanks for the Airhead you snuck into the journal! How did you know green apple is my favorite?

I’m flattered that you think I’m so cool, because I feel like a sad gay goth blob most of the time. Isn’t that funny how that works? You wear certain clothes and put on a certain face, and people think you have your shit together, even if you don’t. Sorry, I hope that didn’t sound snippy…sometimes it feels like poetry is simpler, like all the words and images and sensations come together so easily, but when I have to *Word* in other ways, my thoughts flop out like a fish puking on a summer boardwalk. Curt fragments and blunt statements instead of finesse and expressive language. My last writing teacher said that it’s a defensive technique like what, me? Having reasons to be defensive? Nahhhhhhh no way.

It’s so cool that you write fantasy and sci-fi stories like...I’ve tried that before, but I can never seem to convince myself to believe in my own stuff, so why would anyone else? You create whole worlds and characters and creatures in your head, while I’m over here musing over cute girls and butterflies. Not that I’m complaining, like I know there’s good and bad about each approach, but...you prose writers get to have all the fun. You have dinosaurs on Mars, while I got the feels.

Speaking of feelings-- you said I was nice to you on that first day, but like, not five minutes before I sat down there, I was a big crying mess in the bathroom. Something reminded me of my Mama, and I just...lost it. But you went out of your way to welcome me and try to make friends with me, even though I’m sure I had a total bitch face on.

Sorry to cut things short but I gotta get to class soon. What kind of stuff does your dad like to send you? Where’s your sister now and what is she doing? I hope I can live up to her punk standards.

 

Lots of possums,

Rachel

* * *

**Kalypso**

_Sometimes my arms bend back_  
when I dream of her, the darkness  
of her storm swirling.

Drawing me in, deeper  
and deeper like snakes devouring  
the moon, I want

to trace the creases  
in her eyes, iron out  
each one with a kiss. Hold

her hand until our whole  
cabin burns down  
and we are left naked

in the light, like smoke  
spirits rising, up, up  
to the spying stars.

* * *

**September 8th, 2043 - Morning**

 

I wake alone, the sun shining in my eyes, and my arms hugging a round plushie-- a soft green melon with anime eyes, the stitching frayed around its mouth. There’s a note taped to the top.

 

Hey Rach,

Sorry about the bait and switch! Hope Mr. Melon is a good substitute for me. Had morning art class, and you looked so adorable, I couldn’t bear to wake you up. Left a little gift for you on the nightstand though! Thanks again for being such a sweetheart.

xoxox

Kaya ♥

 

I reach over and grab the brown paper bag from the nightstand. Inside, there’s an iced latte and banana nut muffin. The combination of the two has a cloying sweetness in my mouth-- a little too much, but something I could grow to love. It feels so _her_ , but at the same time, it’s a taste I didn’t know I needed at nine in the morning. Blushing at the thought, I wonder if eating this muffin, this small, precious gift, is the same as kissing her. Or maybe I’m reading too much into everything.

I lay back down, burying my face in the pillow. _God, it smells like her,_ peppermint and a faint perfume that reminds me of honeysuckle. In the corner of my eye, that painting of the storm stands in front of the window, but in the morning light, it glows instead of looming over me-- almost peaceful, in a sad way. I’ve never wanted to hug a painting before, but suddenly I do. It still scares the shit out of me, but it’s not the painting’s fault. The first casualty of The Storm, maybe.

_All you ever wanted was to be beautiful, didn’t you?_

And it is, in its own terrible, frightening way.

* * *

**May 18th, 2028 - Seattle**

**Price-Caulfield Household**

 

“Mom! Mama!!” I’m standing outside my moms’ bedroom, trying to get them up.  I hear a soft groan from the other side of the door.

“Ugh.….What is it, Butterfly?” It’s Mom.

“I heard something in my room. I’m scared.”

The door creaks open. “Okay,” Mom says, “show me where you heard it.”

“Come on! This way!!”

I take her hand, tugging her down the hallway and to my room. The spaceship projector is still on, casting stars and planets across the ceiling. In the blue and yellow light, the tattoos along Mom’s arm shine, too.

The projector creaks every once in awhile, like a small wheezing mouse-- but underneath it, you can hear something else. _Ssst. Sssss._ It’s coming from the closet.

“What the hell is that?” Mom whispers.

“Will you go look, Mom? I’m scared.”

“Don’t worry, I gotcha.” She grabs a nearby book of fairy tiles, holding it overhead like a bat and taking a step forward. “Stay behind me.”

As she gets closer, the hissing increases in intensity. _Hsssssssssss…_ Then, just as she’s about to open the closet, it stops. She looks back at me and nods, her eyes determined and ready.

FWOOMP, she swings the door open.

_HSSSSSSSSS!!!_

“Jesus!” She jumps back. “What the fuck is that?”

From the darkness of the closet, in the blue glow, I spot a fuzzy white face and grey body. Lots of long, white whiskers spring from the sides of its pointy pink nose, wiggling as it hisses. It has round, beady black eyes and tiny black petals for ears.

“Awwww!! It’s so cute!” I squeal, running up to get a closer look.

“No, stay ba--” _HISSSSSSSSSS_

Mom screams and stumbles back, dropping the book with a thump. At that moment, a bright polaroid flash fills the room, with the sound of those tiny gears turning.

“Max! I swear to god--”

“Wow Chloe,” Mama laughs, “I didn’t think you’d be afraid of a little ol’ possum.” She stashes the picture in her pocket before coming over to lift me up in her arms. “This one’s going in the family photo album for sure, right Butterfly?”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel meets someone new. She tells her Mom about The Storm, and Kaya's painting. Chloe tells her about October 2013, but not the entire truth. A flashback to when Rachel decided on her name.
> 
> As a trans woman myself, writing the flashback at the end of this was super tough for me. I almost cried, and i might, just thinking about it. I'm so happy with how it went, though. Hope you enjoy the feels!
> 
> And also, possums are TOTALLY CUTE, not scary omg y'all are so wrong. Just for that, I'm going to have to find more ways to sneak possums into the story.

**September 8th, 2043 - Morning**

 

When I get to Chemistry that morning, there’s a boy standing next to my table with Drew, talking to him.

“And that’s-- oh hey, Rachel!” 

“Hi Drew. Who’s this?”

The other boy turns to look at me. “Hello,” he says, “I’m Nick. Nicholas Bright. Drew has told me so much about you. It’s so good to finally meet you.” 

He’s exactly what you’d imagine when you hear the words “prep school”, with perfectly pressed khaki slacks, a nondescript red polo shirt, and hair lightly gelled into a hanging ridge over his forehead. He offers an outstretched hand, as if he’s meeting someone to finalize a business plan. As I take it, his expression focuses, looking me over.

“Likewise, Nick. Are you in Chem with us? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

His voice rings even and precise, like he’s talking to a television interviewer. “Yes...I was in Australia on holiday with my family, and our return flight was delayed due to a tropical storm in the Pacific. We got back last night, actually.”

“Oh wow. Isn’t the jetlag killing you though? Like...what is it, ten hours’ difference from Oregon?”

“Nineteen hours ahead in Canberra, where we stayed. Almost a full day. But I’ve travelled quite a bit, so I’m used to it. You must have too, with your mother taking photos all around the world, right?”

“I, uh--”

“Come on, dude,” Drew says. “it’s barely been a month since her mom died.”

Nick tussles his hair, a sheepish grin on his face. “Oh, my apologies. I should have known better than to mention her....I’m sure the wound is still fresh.”

“It’s alright,” I say, looking away for a moment, “I’m used to it.”

“She meant a lot to so many people.”

“Yeah…” 

At that moment, the bell rings for class to start. “Well, I should get back to my seat. It was nice meeting you Rachel! And oh-- if you’re interested, I was just telling Drew here about the party I’m holding at my parents’ house this weekend. It’s a bit of a custom, to ring in the new semester. I’d love to see you there if you’re interested! Any friend of Drew’s is a friend of mine.” 

“Yeah, I’ll think about it! Thanks for the invite.”

Nick smiles an almost perfect smile, with all the right muscles moving to fit his face into the proper shape. Definitely not my kind of person, but a party’s a party, I guess. And any friend of Drew’s is a friend of mine.

* * *

 

 

**September 8th, 2043 - After School**

 

**Rachel:** Hey Kaya! My mom was in Arcadia Bay in 2013, when that storm happened. Said she’s going to tell me about it today. Wanna come with?

**Kaya:** sorry love. have to study for this big stats test 

**Kaya:** one week in and it’s brutal :*( 

**Kaya:** inviting me to meet ur parents already tho? o0o0o0o0o do u have a big moving van stashed somewhere in that tiny dorm room of urs?

**Rachel:** Haha, very funny. It’s not my fault you’re so darn cute.

**Kaya:** sorry, can’t help it. i was just made this way ♥ xoxo

* * *

**Rachel:** Omg your friend like, oozes money and pomp. How did you two even meet? 

**Drew:** i’m not really sure myself!! he just sort of...showed up one day? 

**Rachel:** You’re the exact opposite of him.

**Drew:** yeah, but he’s an artist too! takes these photos of people like you wouldn’t believe!!

**Drew:** us artsy types have to stick together, you know? and once you get to know him he’s not so...robotic haha

**Rachel:** That makes sense yeah. I trust you!

**Drew:** cool!! 

**Drew:** so you going to that party?

**Rachel:** Maybe. Are you taking Maria with? I saw you two goofing after class…

**Drew:** i have no idea what you’re talking about, but yes :)

**Rachel:** Details, dude. Give me some of that juicy gossip.

**Drew:** only if you tell me about that pretty little asian thing you were hanging out with the other day

**Rachel:** Ew, way to make it sound all gross. 

**Drew:** sorry, a bit too much? 

**Rachel:** Yeah. It’s cool though. Details tomorrow! And maybe in THE BOOK

* * *

When I get to Mom’s, she’s working on her truck in the driveway.  _ Jesus, that thing is at least twice as old as me _ . At this point, it might as well be a new car, since every part has been replaced once, if not three times. Still has that same tacky Elvis bobblehead on the dash, though.

Mom gets up from under the frame, brushing her hands off on her jeans. “Rachel!” She gives me a massive hug. “You doing okay? Feeling lucky lately?” She nudges me with her elbow.

I blush. “Mom, oh my god.”

“Sorry, you just have this glow about you…” she points to my collarbone, “...and that.”

There, below my neck, sits a dark purple hickey the size of a silver dollar. “Holy shit, how did I not notice that?”

Mom beams at me. “I’m guessing things went well then?”

“Yeah. I um, really like her.”

“Yeah? It went really, really well?” She nudges me again.

I bury my face in my hands. “Oh my god, Mom. You’re such a  _ dad _ sometimes.”

“Oh, your mother definitely wore the pants in the relationship,” she replies, grinning.

“Okay, I did  _ not _ need to know that.” 

She laughs for a good minute. “Alright, alright.” 

She exhales. “So you wanted to know about this storm stuff?”

“Well yeah. Someone put that stuff all over campus. And…” I stutter, thinking about the painting. Mom looks at me expectantly. Not like I could ever hide anything from her, but I have to ask anyway. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone else?”

She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Of course, Rach. I’m always here for you.”

“Okay. Well, do you believe in precognition? Like, ‘Minority Report’ kind of stuff?” She grows so stiff, I think I might have broken my Mom-bot. It’s like when I was thirteen, and I told her I wanted ‘Rachel’ to be my name. 

After a second, the rust loosens, but her face creases. “I do. Your mother...she saw the storm.”

This is not what I expected at all. “What?”

“It was the same week we fell in love. The same week she came back to me, after living in Seattle for five years. She saw the storm a week before it arrived, and we spent those days trying to stop it...but we were just two kids, and we could only do so much. No one wanted to believe two teenagers screaming that the sky was falling. I don’t believe in miracles, but it felt like one when it missed The Bay.”

“Are you messing with me, Mom?”

“Nope. Dead serious.” She looks me right in the eyes, the blue meeting my brown. “Are you...seeing things, Rachel?” 

“No. I’m not. Kaya is.”

A kind of relief crosses her face, but she’s still half-afraid. “The girl you like?”

“Yeah. She doesn’t have visions, exactly. She dreams things, and the dreams that she feels...compelled to turn into paintings always come true.”

“And she’s not fucking with you?”

“No, I believe her. There was this sketch she had, of her telling me everything in her room. The same exact lighting and posing, and the same wet leaf under my foot, too. And then the painting of the storm, it was exactly like the posters, and on the same day. No way she could have done it that fast. She was so scared, Mom.”

“Does she know when it’s going to happen?”

“No.”

Mom pinches the bridge of her nose, thinking for a second. “This shit again…” She sighs, resigned. “Okay, Rach. The storm turned away last time, so maybe it will again this time. We don’t know what could happen. Maybe it’s just a weird fucking fluke and your friend is right sometimes, but not always. Your mother wasn’t 100% right either.” 

I’m trying to believe her, but it sounds more like she’s trying to convince herself than me. “Okay, Mom.” She presses me into a hug, holding on to me for dear life.

“We’ll take it a day at a time, okay? Like we have since...since she died. And in the meantime, I’ll pack some stuff away, just in case, so if we have to leave in a hurry, we can.”

I hug her back. “That sounds good, Mom. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’ve dealt with worse before. Just...be careful, okay Butterfly? I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom. I will be.”

* * *

**June 13th, 2038 - Seattle, Afternoon**

**Price-Caulfield Household**

 

Wind whistling past my ears. The soft, Seattle jello-heat of the summer sun on my skin. Mom’s pushing me on the swing in our backyard, higher and higher, so high that I can see over our fence and into the neighbor’s garden. At the apex, I shout, “Hi Marvel!,” waving at the Hassee’s cocker spaniel napping by their tree.

“You’re such a dork, Butterfly. You know that dog’s deaf.”

“Aww, you’re no fun, Mom!”

“Hey, who’s doing the pushing here now?” She gives an extra hard push and I squeal.

“Ahh! Don’t send me to the moon now!”

“What’s that you said? You want to go to the moon?” She pushes even harder and I’m practically flying now, laughing so hard my face hurts. My stomach drops a little with the touch of weightlessness when I hit the apex of my upswing-- scared, but excited. I’m thirteen, and I don’t want to be a boy anymore. 

Well, I’ve never  _ been _ one to begin with. At least, that’s what I tell myself. During the day, at school or on the bus, when I’m out with my friends, I’m still...someone else. But when I’m at home I feel invincible in my backyard, ten thousand miles above the stratosphere, with my Mom ready to catch me if I fall. I can be anyone I want to be, at least for a moment.

She checks in, probably noticing that I’ve grown silent. “Hey Butterfly. You okay there?” 

“Yeah, Mom. Just thinking.”

“Oh? What about?” Her pushes are softer now, more methodical, more pendulum than astronaut.

“I’m thinking about names...” Mom lets my silence sit as I catch up to my thoughts. “What would you have named me if I came out a girl that first day?”

“Well first of all, you didn’t come out as anything. You were just you.”

“Aww, but ‘you’ is such a boring name.”

“Jesus, you’re just like your mother,” she grins, “and my dad. But I guess we never really thought about it. I mean, we didn’t even let them tell us anything at the first ultrasound, because we wanted you to be yourself. Like, gender reveal parties and pink for girls and blue for boys? I hate all of that bullshit.”

“You still gave me a boy name though.” 

“Yeah, but it’s always been more of a...provisional thing. ‘I just have a feeling,’ your mother would say. I think she knew before even you or I did.”

“She’s always been the smart one in the relationship,” I prod, giggling.

“Hey! Just for that, I’m definitely sending you to the moon!” She gives a big, running start of a push.

“Mom, no!!!” I squeak, flying again. 

She laughs too. “Take that, and that!” 

Once I manage to catch my breath, I continue. “What about Karen?”

“Oh my god, Butterfly. I know we’re white, but do you really want the most generic of all generic white girl names?”

“Okay okay, good point. Jasmine?”

“I think you’re more of an Opal than a Jasmine.” The sun’s starting to come down now, hitting my face. I close my eyes and breathe deep, floating through space.

“Yeah, I could see that. I don’t think I’m wild enough for Jasmine anyway. What about Eris?”

“You might as well slap a big, fat, ‘I’m a lesbian’ label right on your face... not that that’s a bad thing.”

“Well, I do like girls…Calliope?”

“I know you love your Greek mythology, but I swear I’ve met like, at least five other trans women with that name.”

“Elle, like the magazine?”

“Same there. Simple and pretty though. It sounds nice.”

“I like the symmetry!”

“But it does literally mean ‘girl’ in French. Like, talk about obvious,” she teases.

“Oh!” And it comes to me. “How about Rachel? I love the way it sounds.”

Mom suddenly stops pushing me, growing quiet. I skid my shoes across the ground, coming to a halt, and look back. “Mom?”

She isn’t smiling anymore. She looks down at her feet, biting her lip like she’s trying to chew a tough piece of gristle. My heart hitches for a moment... _ did I say something wrong _ ? 

She takes a big, slow inhale her nose, exhaling through her mouth, before muttering out. “You really like that name, huh?” 

My body freezes for a minute as I think about it. I can’t explain why, but it’s like the name has been floating out there, above the stars this whole time, waiting for me to reach out and grab it, and hold it, and take it into my arms like a baby bird. 

I’m scared, but I’m tired of being someone I’m not. And it might be just a name, but now...it’s my name. Maybe it’s always been my name.  _ Rachel. Rachel _ , I tell myself in my head, and the more I hear it, the more it feels right. And I can tell that Mom doesn’t like it, I can see the way her fists ball up and her shoulders stiffen like a slab of ice is sitting on her neck, but I can’t give it up. I know I only found it a moment ago, but I don’t want to lose it. 

I don’t want to lose who I am. I barely know who I am right now, but I can’t lose this. I can’t.

“Mom....” I start, and I feel the wet at the corners of my eyes.

Mom seems to snap out of it, softening at my voice. She rushes over, wrapping her strong arms around me. “Hey, hey...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you there.”

“I really do like it,” I sniffle, the tears flowing now. 

“I do too.” She pats my back. “I once knew a girl named Rachel.”

I look up at her. “You-- you did?”

“Yeah. I loved her, even.” And her big blue eyes are cloudy now, crying with me, her face all twisted up like someone slapped her.  

“Did something...happen to her?”

“Yeah.” 

We stay there for a moment, holding each other as we cry. The sun has dipped almost below the horizon now, and the crickets chirp, greeting the night. In the distance, I hear a songbird whistle a lonely tune.

When our tears subside, Mom squeezes me one more time before pulling away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Oh jeez...that hasn’t happened in awhile,” she chuckles to herself. 

She puts an arm across my shoulder, leading me back inside. “Come on, Rachel. I’ll tell you about your namesake. I’m sure there’s some pictures of her in the attic still…”

 

_ “And I kinda feel like,  
_ _ something is changing forever.  
_ __ I can’t be certain, but I think you know...”  
-Kero Kero Bonito, “You Know How It Is”


End file.
